


Second Time Around

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Hayes argues with a hallucination. (05/27/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 3.23 "Countdown," 3.24 "Zero Hour."  
  
Hey, it _could_ happen like this. No reason for it not to.  
  
This is what is referred to in some fandoms as an OPEN AU, which means that anyone who so wishes may take this plot and/or idea and run with it. I'd be thrilled. :-) This was inspired by a ListSib (I can't remember which one, sadly, or even which list), who was hopeful that the time-travel thing would allow for Hayes to not be dead. Well, sort of. ;-> Thank you for giving me the bunnie! P.S.: The tower in the story is real. You can read about it here: http://www.cntower.ca/ It is truly one of the coolest things anywhere.   


* * *

He remembered dying.

It hadn't been very pleasant—he sure as hell remembered _that_ —shuddering out the last pieces of his life on that damn uncomfortable bio bed. He remembered how much it hurt as the doc tried to shock his heart back into a useful rhythm.

It hadn't worked, obviously. He remembered worrying about his team as he faded out, whether Reed would actually take his advice about McKenzie. Reed was such a stubborn bastard.

And then nothing. And then he was suddenly _here._

"Here" was Toronto, Canada, specifically the observation deck of the CN Tower. He hadn't been born in Toronto, but he had visited the city more than once. The Tower was always his favorite place to go, though it hadn't been the "World's Tallest Free-Standing Structure" for decades.

Even so, the view was still amazing. On a clear day you could see all the way across Lake Ontario to Buffalo, New York. As a kid he'd always loved that, loved how it made him feel like Superman, to be able to see so far. He had been planning to come back here, once they got out of the Expanse, finally finished their mission. He'd been looking forward to having that feeling again—the feeling that anything was possible.

But instead, he'd died.

"My, my, Mon Commandant—such gloomy thoughts considering you're alive and well. If I didn't know you better, I'd be disappointed."

Matthew Hayes whirled, dropping automatically into a defensive crouch.

The man staring at him just smiled condescendingly. "Please," he snorted, "don't waste you energy."

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Matthew found himself on the other side of the observation deck, standing over the glass ceiling that let you look straight down to the courtyard over 555 meters below. He blinked, whirled again. The stranger was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and smirking.

"Who the hell are you?" Matthew snarled. This couldn't be real, he decided. This had to be some hallucination he was having, from lack of oxygen or something. It made sense, actually—didn't you see things from your past when you died? And it would explain why the guy was wearing a MACO uniform, complete with General's stripes, no less.

The stranger's brow furrowed. "That's not very flattering," he said. "This is quite real, I assure you." He waved one hand expansively. "Doesn't this feel real to you?"

"No," Matthew lied, because it actually did. He could even hear the wind whistling through the bars closing off the deck; feel it blowing against his hair and skin. He could smell the city, the tang of Lake Ontario so far below. "I asked you a question. And how the hell do you know what I'm thinking?" That _had_ to mean it was a hallucination, right?

The stranger shook his head sadly. "I knew you were going to give me trouble, Johnny," he said. "Such a cynic. A shame."

"My name is Matthew," Matthew growled, then realized how stupid that was. He was arguing with a hallucination, for crying out loud.

The stranger tisked, irritated. "We don't have time for this, Johnny. Well," he amended, smirking, "we do, but you're boring me. What will convince you...? Ah!" He grinned triumphantly. "I know!"

He snapped his fingers again, and then they were back on _Enterprise,_ in sickbay.

The room was full of people on bio beds, both fleeters and MACOs; so many that he could see that some had been forced onto gurneys in the corridor outside. Phlox and his assistants were harried, rushing from one patient to another.

No one noticed them.

Matthew turned to the stranger, who was just standing there with a superior smile on his lips. "This doesn't prove a damn thing."

The guy's smile widened. "This might." He pointed across the room.

Matthew glared at him, then shrugged and walked over to where the stranger had been pointing. He actually bumped into someone at one point—Ari Cohn, if he remembered correctly, one of Phlox's crew—but the kid acted like he hadn't felt anything at all. Well, it made sense, Matthew figured, since he wasn't actually there, though Cohn's shoulder seemed solid enough.

He'd been directed to the small alcove, where they kept the bodies before transferring them to the makeshift morgue in one of the cargo bays. There was only one body there right now: someone tall, covered with a white sheet.

"Go ahead—see who it is."

Matthew started. He hadn't even seen the guy come up beside him. He gave him another glare, then grabbed the sheet and yanked it away from the corpse's face.

And was looking at himself. Dead.

He turned angrily to the stranger. "This doesn't mean anything!" But Matthew had to admit that now his heart was hammering. He hadn't known he'd been bleeding from the mouth, or that the burn mark on his chest was actually that small. Maybe this was some kind of astral projection thing? Looking down on himself? But he felt too solid for that, too real. He remembered bumping into Cohn. His shoulder still twinged from the impact.

The stranger put his hand on Matthew's back. It was strangely comforting.

"It's not an easy thing to deal with, is it?" The guy asked quietly, and he actually looked sympathetic. "You humans are so astonishingly resilient, and yet so appallingly fragile."

"If I'm dead," Matthew said, voice rough as sand. "What am I doing here?" He was still looking at his own face. He would never have guessed he'd look like that, dead.

"That's the thing!" The stranger was all exuberance again. "You're _not_ dead! I plucked you out of Hades myself. This," and he gestured vaguely at Matthew's corpse, "was just a demonstration." He grinned, patting Matthew's back. "Come on—you have work to do."

And suddenly they were somewhere else entirely.

* * *

"Shh," the stranger said. He put a finger to his lips and winked. "Be vewwy, vewwy quiet."

Matthew just looked at him. The guy grinned.

They were...In a field hospital, it looked like, and Matthew's first thought was that it was Central America, but then he looked around and realized that the tech was wrong, and so were the people. They were too light-skinned, for starters. And—

And he'd never seen those uniforms. Not for real. But he sure as hell recognized them.

He stared at the man next to him. Maybe he was an alien. No, he _had_ to be an alien. None of this made sense, otherwise. An alien who could manipulate time? After the Sphere Builders, he figured anything was possible. "This is World War II?" He asked. He couldn't have made himself speak at anything more than a whisper, even if he'd wanted to.

The stranger—alien?—put his finger on the side of his nose. "Got it in one. And I'm not an alien by the way." His voice was full of grandeur, despite his speaking softly. "I am _so_ very much more than that."

"What are we doing here?"

The man's grin became conspiratorial. "We're on a rescue mission." He pointed to one of the stretchers.

Matthew hadn't really noticed the patients, since he'd been too busy looking at all the Germans in their Nazi uniforms. But he noticed now.

It was Captain Archer. Burned, obviously in a bad way, but right there, in the middle of a very old war, looking as solid and real as Matthew had to admit he felt. He was even still wearing his Starfleet uniform.

Matthew gaped at the stranger. "What the _hell_?"

"Shh!" The stranger said, though Matthew had no idea why he was bothering. They had to be just as hidden as they were on _Enterprise,_ or they'd've likely been already swarmed by Aryans. "There's been a...little problem with the timeline. Destroying the Xindi weapon somehow brought our Good Captain here."

Matthew felt his eyes widening. "They destroyed the weapon?" His head dropped, and he closed his eyes as he breathed. They'd destroyed the weapon. For a moment the relief was almost overwhelming.

"Yes, yes—Earth is safe from rampaging lizards," the guy snapped impatiently, jostling Matthew so he opened his eyes. "But that still leaves us with this little problem of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Look." And he pointed again.

Matthew was getting tired of this, but he dutifully looked.

One of the Nazi's wandering around was an alien.

Matthew sagged back against the wall. "Oh fuck," he said. He rubbed his hand over his face. Being dead suddenly seemed a hell of a lot simpler. He looked back up at the stranger. "Why?"

"Not for me to say, I'm afraid," the guy said. He smiled a bit apologetically. "You lucky humans get to figure that part out for yourselves. I'm just a glorified chauffeur."

Matthew snorted. "Right." He looked at Archer again. Those injuries seemed pretty bad. "Where's _Enterprise_?"

"In orbit," the stranger answered immediately. "Currently very confused and forlorn, wondering where all their little space-stations went. And at this precise moment, your favorite engineer and the helmsman who clobbered you, are flying over San Francisco, dodging American fighter planes."

Matthew looked at him in alarm. "Are they okay?" And wasn't this guy going to do some sort of mojo thing and rescue them?

"Oh, they'll be fine," he said. The guy waved a hand dismissively. "They're possibly irreparably damaging history even as we speak, but never mind about that." He grinned again, like this was all terrifically amusing. "You've got a captain to save!"

More flashes of light, and then they were somewhere out in the woods.

Matthew looked around, blinking. No way he'd ever get used to this shit. Something gray on his sleeve caught his eye, and he looked down at himself, then recoiled in horror.

"I am _not_ wearing this," he said darkly, meaning the crisp Nazi uniform.

"Please." The guy rolled his eyes. "It's a disguise, not a political statement. Besides—how else are you going to sneak in there to emancipate the Captain?" His voice started drooling sarcasm. "I'm sure your MACO uniform wouldn't raise any suspicions at all."

Matthew crossed his arms. "You're the one doing all the teleportation crap—why the hell do you need me, anyway?"

Unbelievably, the stranger suddenly seemed chagrined. He even looked away, down at the moist forest floor. He scuffed his immaculate MACO- issue boot in the dirt. "Well, that. I, er...made a small promise not to interfere in the affairs of humans."

Matthew raised his eyebrows.

The stranger shrugged, but his smile was back. "There is some wiggle room."

"I see." Matthew sighed. He didn't, really, but what the hell. "So, I'm just meant to waltz in there and grab him? Why can't _Enterprise_ transport him, if they're in orbit?"

"Ah," now the grin was back. "I knew I made the right choice when I resurrected you, Mein Major! I just love that tactical mind of yours." He moved to pat Matthew on the shoulder, but Matthew moved away. "The thing is," he continued unperturbed, "they don't know he's here. They think he died blowing up the Xindi weapon."

"Oh," Matthew grunted. That explained a lot, actually, though not how the Captain had ended up in Germany during World War II. With aliens. "So how will they know to find _me_?"

"That one's easy," the stranger said. He gestured at one of the pockets on Matthew's uniform. "You have a communicator."

Well, of _course_ he did. Matthew patted his pocket, feeling the familiar rectangular shape. He almost laughed, because it was all so damn nuts. "And I guess I speak fluent German."

"Of course not." The stranger looked like that was the stupidest thing he'd heard in a long time. "You speak English. They'll just think you're speaking German."

"Okay..." And this guy couldn't just grab Archer himself? "So, what do I tell them when I go in there—that he's a long time friend?"

"Ooh, such sarcasm!" He made a show of looking hurt. "It ill becomes you, Mein Major. But really, do you expect me to do _all_ the thinking? I thought you humans prided yourselves on your creativity." His face became pensive. "Or was that your compassion...?"

"Hey!" Matthew crossed his arms again, brought his glare back. "I wasn't exactly trained for this. You seem to know exactly what's going on." _even if you won't tell me a damn thing,_ he thought sourly. "Give me a cover so I can get Archer out of there."

"No can do, Mein Major." The stranger said brightly. He swept his arm out, a theatrical gesture that looked totally out of place against his MACO uniform. "I've done _more_ than enough already—for which you still need to thank me, by the way—and I think rest is up to you." He patted Matthew's cheek before the major could duck it. "Gluck!"

There was one more flash of white light, and then the guy was gone, leaving Matthew alone in the forest.

"Well, fuck." Matthew sighed, then checked over his uniform. He was wearing some kind of pistol, which was at least reassuring. And of course he had his communicator. And apparently he could understand German perfectly—the smug bastard had wished him 'good luck' before he did his genie impression.

Now all he had to do was go into a field hospital full of Nazis and aliens, and pull off rescuing Archer and getting them both back to _Enterprise_ —an *Enterprise that was sure they were both dead—without getting captured himself.

Or killed. He really didn't want to go through that again.

_Gluck._ Yeah. He was sure going to need it.


End file.
